Blue Blouses
by SummerPond
Summary: Post First Class. After a rough night out, Clara runs into a mysterious young man who goes by the name Charles Xavier. Agreeing to help her control her powers, a terrible truth is unlocked, and Clara's life and many others are left hanging on. But can everything be redeemed before its too late? Slight AU. Charlesxoc
1. So You're A Telepath?

**A/N: Hi peeps! So I've decided Ill try writing for the X-Men now. Yay! (Be warned.) Anyway, I own no rights to any of this sadly, except for Clara. She's mine, but I think she might belong to the BBC slightly. I don't know. She just reminds me of Clara from... Oh never mind. Must be the name. **

**Anyway, enjoy the first chapter. Reviews are loved.**

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**Blue Blouses**

Chapter One: So You're A Telepath?

The music blares loudly in the background, something he had come used to over his short amount of time studying at Oxford. His late nights out with Raven, and always another girl, would take a toll on his ability the next day. But it was always worth it.

Hearing her thoughts over everyone else's, Charles sits back slightly, staring out at the small pub. Actually, it isn't really small, but it is packed. Eyes focusing in on his subject, he catches sight of her sitting at a table, another man hanging off her arm.

Charles sighs, downing the liquid in his glass before looking back over. He truly hopes he isn't attracting her attention with all his side gazes, or straight on looks, but he had to find her.

'Spoke to soon.' Charles inwardly sighs, diverting his gaze as her head rounds to him.

Watching as the brunette suddenly drops her hand to her boyfriend, she gets up for the bar, while he seems to be kissing the life out of another girl. Raising an eyebrow, Charles looks away again, focusing on another group of people. Narrowing his eyes and placing two fingers to his temple, he can immediately read their minds.

"Money, money, sex, money... Cat? Okay then..."

Suddenly, a rush of thoughts come flying at him, like a gust of wind to the face. Turning his head, Charles meets the gaze of the young girl in question, standing over at the bar, holding his gaze.

ooOoo

'What is he doing?' Clara thinks, watching the young man sitting in a dark corner out of the corner of her eye. He had been watching her since the moment she stepped in.

As he looks away, Clara turns her head to see him properly. Frowning for a split second, she turns back to her boyfriend, who seems to be chatting up some big breasted blonde.

'Oh have her, for crying out loud.' Clara thinks, rolling her eyes.

Making her mind up, the mutant slowly lowers her hand that was holding her chin up, placing it tentatively on Matt's hand. The young man stops dead in the middle of his sentence, blinks, then rushes forward, smacking his lips on the girl in front of him.

Clara sighs, getting up out of her seat, while her now ex-boyfriend makes out with another girl.

'Why can't I ever find someone who actually finds me interesting, and without me having to tip the scales?'

Suddenly, a new songs starts up in the background, most of the remaining occupants in the pub cheering, before starting to dance and sing. Clara sighs, hearing the familiar tune of The Beatles.

Making her way to the bar, which involves a lot of pushing and squirming, the young brunette comes face to face with Roger, the bar man.

"Hey doll, what'll it be?" He asks, his heavy New York accent pronouncing each word clearly.

"Two pints of bitter, Roger. I think I'll need to forget a lot of things from tonight."

The man raises an eyebrow, looking around the pub before resting his eyes on Matt, and a blonde girl. Obviously, something had gone bad.

"You sure, love? I've got something stronger, if you like. On the house."

Clara smiles, nodding before replying, "Make it two, and I'll pay for the second."

Roger nods, retrieving two glasses from below the counter. "You got it, dearie." He says, retrieving the whiskey from behind him.

Resting an elbow on the counter, Clara sighs, turning her head to look at the crowd in the pub.

"Seems like you've got one hell of a crowd tonight, Roger."

"Well you obviously weren't here two nights ago. I'll tell you, Clara. Rebecca and I had trouble serving drinks until two in the morning. Then the coppers had to come in and sought them out. Should have seen them, Clara. Scared all my customers away. Well... At least it was a good nights worth of business."

Clara laughs, hearing his voice from the furthest end of the bar, mixing the scotch and whiskey into two glasses.

Blue eyes land on her black ones for a split second, before they're looking off in the opposite direction. Clara frowns, trying to get any sort of reading from the mysterious man in the corner.

Her eyebrows furrow in defiance as she tries harder to search for any sort of emotion being emitted from him, but she can't find anything. It's like he isn't even there.

Or he's set up blocks to stop her.

"Now there's an interesting thought, if I've ever had one myself." Clara whispers to herself, frustration growing and mixing with curiosity.

"Who are you?" She asks, narrowing her eyes carefully. Suddenly, as if he heard her, the stranger looks up and meets her eyes.

Clara stares at him for a good five seconds, unable to look away. People pass through their gaze, dancing, swaying, laughing and singing, but never once does he move his gaze away.

The sudden touch at her hand makes her flinch away from both things, swinging around to face the old, ageing face of Roger.

"Your drinks, love." He smiles, gesturing to the two glasses on the bar top. But it drops, noticing the look on her young face.

"Out of all the times you've been in here, love, I have never seen that much confusion and shock on that pretty little face of yours. So tell me, what's the matter."

Clara looks up at him, from the drinks, completing skipping his question.

"You got a tray for these?" Then noticing how rude she is being, Clara straightens her form, placing a smile on her face.

"Oh... It's nothing, Roger. I'm fine. Just gotta get these down me, and make it to work tomorrow. Hopefully without remembering tonight."

Roger laughs, stepping back from the table top, moving on.

"Good luck with that, love."

Clara says thanks, grabbing the drinks in her arms before moving off, navigating her way through all the crowd.

Her personal stalker looks off into the distance, focusing on something completely different. Clara sighs, coming to stop in front of his table. Taking a second to look him over, she places the drink down in front of him, then takes a seat. His eyes glue to her immediately, a smile present on his face. Which, Clara only notices now, is quite handsome.

'Focus, dear.' She reminds herself, staring him down.

"You know, that was quite a neat trick you did." Charles starts, fiddling with his drink.

Clara frowns, taking a sip from her drink. Immediately, her eyes widen, and she gags, staring at the glass filled with something mind boggling. 'That is strong.'

But her mind is dragged back to reality, coming face to face with this mysterious man's question.

"What are you talking about?" Clara asks, eyes narrowing as she leans back.

In return, the blue eyed stranger nods over to a couple snogging in the corner of the pub, which she recognises as Matt and that blonde bimbo. How did he...

"You unbalanced his hormonal level, giving your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, might I just add, the upper hand, in which you are right, the girl he has been interested in all night."

A smirk is well hidden under a clearly trained face. Clara suddenly leans closer, shifting her upper body over the table slightly. Charles raises a hand to his temple, but Clara dismisses it. Her mind is currently filled to the brim with questions for this stranger. As in, who was he, what did he want... And how did he know?

"I think you know why I know, dear."

Charles sends a smile her way, before lifting the glass and taking a swig from it. Clara feels a smile tugging on her lips as he gags too, clearly also not used to the drink.

"Oh... Thanks by the way." He says, taking another huge mouthful from the drink.

"But how did you... Oh no... You can't be."

Clara's eyes widen as Charles turns his head from the drink, focusing on her.

"Yes."

Clara freezes, gripping the table. Whatever he had said, it wasn't said. Well, at least, not aloud. She looks him up and down, noticing his fingers to his temple. Then it finally dawns on her.

Charles doesn't think it was even be possible if her eyes could grow any wider, but somehow, they do.

"You're like me."

The sentence is barely a whisper, but it is filled with realisation, and adoration. She smiles, completely beside herself.

"Yes. I'm Charles Xavier, and I'm a telepath." His voice echoes in her head, reverberating even into the darkest of places in her mind.

"Clara Jane." She says out loud, offering her hand over the table with a large smile. Charles looks at it, then takes it. His hand is strong and firm, but also a softness to his skin.

"You really are a mutant. A telepath!" She exclaims, but not loud enough for the other pub occupants to hear her.

Charles chuckles, leaning back, inspecting his drink with one hand, the other draped over his seat.

"Yes, and so are you, my dear Clara."

Clara pulls her head back, momentarily shocked he knows, but then realises he obviously would know.

"But nowhere near as powerful as you, Charles."

Charles raises an eyebrow, but nods.

"That may be true, but we all have gifts."

He half finishes his whiskey, scotch and some other things he knew were in the drink, but didn't know what they were, and places it down on the table. By the time he has done all this, he finds Clara staring at him quite inquisitively.

"Why are you here?" She asks, narrowing her eyes. Her pretty face makes her look as though she is almost joking, but Charles knows better.

"Uh... Let me put it this way." The young man clears his throat, suddenly straightening himself out. Placing his arms in front of himself to lean on the table, he stares across at Clara, who sits back, mouth slightly ajar with curiosity.

"I can read, control and communicate with minds. All of which are impressive,"

Clara rolls her eyes playfully, receiving a mock scowl from Charles, but he continues.

"But you have a special set of gifts I have never seen before."

"And you want me to demonstrate them to you?" Clara finishes, eyebrows raised.

"If you wouldn't mind, that is." Charles offers, shuffling back, hands still on the table, though.

Clara lowers her hand, flexes her thin fingers towards the flesh on the other mutant's hand.

"You don't mind if I-?"

Charles realises she is talking about using him as a subject, and quickly assures her.

"Oh no, please. I'm quite curious."

Clara nods, skimming her fingers over his skin. He's warm to the touch, and Clara starts to feel her power affect him.

Charles watches intently, only two fingertips pressed to the outside of his hand. But suddenly, he can feel the surge of power that is being sent through his hand.

Clara smiles, and he smiles back lazily, suddenly quite comfortable with her presence.

"You know, you're face is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, my dear Clara. I'm surprised he gave up on you only after a few months. I know I wouldn't." He laughs leaning closer. Clara does too.

Charles stares at her lips, seeing the straight, rounding edges perfectly in the light of the pub. And as they come within two inches of brushing his, they're gone, and so is the comforting touch of her soft, delicate hand.

And with it, the feeling produced by the touch.

"That's extraordinary, but no fair."

Clara frowns, staring at him from under a stray tendril of brown, nearly black hair.

"How so? I bought you a drink first, didn't I?" Clara smiles, staring down at her own.

Charles laughs heartedly, deciding to fuse the tension by staring intently off into the pub's crowd, reading thoughts and stopping unwanted ones from ever being put into action.

"I can also read emotions."

Charles refocuses his gaze onto the young girl of at least twenty two, intent on hearing the following conversation.

"For example, I sense excitement and fun from you, but I also sense a strong whim of responsibility and a feeling of great loss and pain." She stops, seeing Charles flinch at that.

"I'm sorry." She says, pushing back slightly.

"Oh no, it's fine. Really. But you're not a telepath?"

His eyebrows raise, which Clara notes, happens a lot.

"No, I'm not. I can't tell what you're thinking, but I can feel what you're thinking. And I can also effect it through hormones."

"Intriguing. But you have to touch to effect emotions, am I correct?"

"Yes." Clara nods, but then stops. Her body becomes straight, and she moves away from him slightly.

"This is all fun and games, Charles, but would you mind telling me what you are doing here? You wouldn't be here for a few obvious reasons."

"Oh really?" Charles asks, smiling calmly.

"Yes. You see the way you stick out like a lone bright star in the sky around here? Out of the hundred people in here, you are the only one dressed in a suit, shoes unscuffed, and hair respectfully combed. You are the only one who takes pride in his appearance, except for the few pretty girls around and about. Also the lone fact that you are sitting alone, in the darkest corner. And you've been staring at me from the moment I stepped in. So tell me. Why are you here?"

Charles chokes slightly, knowing he's been caught out, but tries his best to hide it from the inquisitive brunette.

"My dear Clara, you truly are gifted with many things.

Are you sure super intelligence isn't also another power?"

Clara frowns, shaking her head, knowing immediately what he is trying to do.

"Come on Charles. Stop flattering, and tell me why you're really here."

Letting a lung full of air out, Charles takes a few seconds to watch the crowd dance and sing, still going full out. Finally finding the right answer, Charles turns back to the girl, meeting her black eyes, the lights in the room reflecting in the giant globes.

"Okay then. Clara, you have the ability to read emotions, change them and heal people with a single touch."

Eyes widening, Clara sticks a finger out, pointing accusingly at him.

"How do you-"

"Trust me, but can you control all of it completely? Or is it controlling you?"

Clara sits up straight, taken aback by his proposition. She opens her mouth in defiance, but Charles beats her to it.

"What made you buy two servings of what ever it is you bought? I'm sure you'd know you can only ever drink one. You didn't even finish your last drink."

Clara frowns, pouting.

"I wanted to forget."

"No. You're powers took control of your mind. They saw me, and you subconsciously bought a second drink. You found yourself standing next to me, passing me a drink and sitting down. And trust me. I had nothing to do with it."

"I was curious."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

The hesitation gives Charles his answer, and he sits back.

"I can help you to harness your powers and control them."

The offer is simple, as though it could have been a passing comment, but Clara is starting to see this Charles in a different light. She was not some sick puppy dog that needed nursing.

"What do you mean? How?"

Charles cocks his head, staring at her through bright blue pools, the colour of the Caribbean Waters.

"Stay with me for a little while. Let's say, for a week. I can show you how to use your powers. After that, you can choose to stay or leave."

Clara doesn't know whether she is laughing at the proposal, or the fact that he is serious. But either way, she can't stop.

"Right. All alone with you, at your place for a week. No matter how nice you dress, or how mutant and egocentric you think you are, I am not going home with you... And living with you for a week? Please."

Clara shifts her wait, making it obvious she is about to get up and leave. Standing up, she makes a move to walk away, when Charles hand grabs hers.

"Clara, wait. You aren't the only one staying. There are others."

Clara stares at him, incredulous. How desperate was he?

"So there are others you have lured in?"

She rips her hand free of his strong hold, turning away and walking off. Charles watches her receding image with panic.

"Clara!" He calls after, sending a telepathic message.

"No!" Is all he gets in return.

Charles frowns, almost grumbling. Why did they always have to be difficult?

Closing his eyes, he presses his fingertips firmly against his temple, calling up all the power he can muster.

Clara quickens her pace, trying to find the exit. She is so oblivious in her determination that she doesn't notice the sudden quietness. Well, not until now.

"What the?" She says out loud, standing in a crowd full of still people. Every single one of them has been frozen to the spot, not moving, talking or anything. Just paused, like on some kind of malfunction on the television.

Swinging around, Clara spots Charles face, concentration marks lining his hound face.

"Charles..." She says out loud, anger boiling, trying to hide the terror crawling up her spine.

Suddenly, a voice resonates in her head, vibrating and swirling in and out of her thoughts.

"If everyone wouldn't mind clearly out of the pub, I would like to talk to Miss Clara for a few moments."

Suddenly, everyone starts moving again, but they are all heading in one direction. Towards the door. Fighting her way through the crowd, Clara finds herself standing in an empty pub, staring at Charles.

"Oh... And Roger. Could you lock the door and leave the keys inside? Thanks."

Clara can't help but smile at the last part, hearing the keys jangling as they hit the ground in the background.

"What do you really want, Charles?"

Opening his eyes, Charles meets the face of Clara, the young girl standing only a few feet off from him.

"Nothing. Only to help you."

Clara takes a step back, involuntarily brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

"I don't believe you."

Charles raises an eyebrow, but then nods.

"Fine then, let me show you instead."

Clara frowns, but knows what he is talking about. Sitting down again, Clara prepares for the mind invasion. Charles frowns in concentration, fingers meeting temples.

Suddenly, Clara gasps, feeling the pure power of Charles rushing through her mind. Images flash before her; a mansion somewhere in the countryside, vintage hallways, a large room full of people gathered around a small television. She sees two or three young children, other boys nearly out of their teens, a big blue fur ball, and finally, Charles himself... In a wheelchair.

Clara feels the sensation of Charles dropping out of her thoughts, and she is left staring at him. Taking a few moments, she gathers herself, wondering why she never noticed before now.

Quickly, she leans over the table, hands out flat. Charles stares at her inquisitively, almost questioning what she is doing.

"Give me your hands." She whispers, looking at him from under a long fringe of hair.

Skeptically, Charles outstretches his hands, unsure.

Smiling assuringly, Clara wraps both hands around around his large ones, covering them entirely.

"I had no idea." She says, suddenly closing her eyes, then opening them again. As a result, Charles starts to feel a tingling sensation in his hips, before the feeling started to go lower, towards his feet.

Quietly, she stand, still holding the paralysed man's hands. He stares at her, bewildered for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. She tugs his arm encouragingly.

"Come on."

Charles shakes his head slowly. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. Just try to stand."

Charles stares at her for a few seconds, completely lost. Delicately, he tries to direct her back to her seat.

"No. Trust me." She squeezes his hand, Charles looking at her almost pleadingly. She never once blinks. Finding reassurance in that fact alone, Charles closes his eyes. Clara holds his hand, pulling slowly.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is met with a magnificent sight.

"Oh my, I didn't realise..."

He sounds elated, standing in the middle of a pub, The Beatles still carrying on somewhere in the background.

"What? That I could heal someone to this level? Please, I can bring someone back from the dead for a short amount of time."

"For... For how long?"

Charles stammers on his questions, moving his legs back and forth, feeling the blood rushing through them. A tear met his moving shoes on the floor, and with his free hand, he wipes his cheek, seeing the tear at his fingertips.

"As long as I'm touching them." She squeezes his hand, sending reassurance his way. Charles smiles, twirling her around, under his arm. Clara laughs, following his dancing.

"But when you let go?" Charles asks, still twirling her about.

"You go back to being the way you were before." She states it simply, but it stops Charles dead in his tracks. Clara notices, but she doesn't push, still holding his hand.

"Thank you, Clara." He smiles, leading her back to his awaiting wheelchair, where he sits and lets go. He cringes when he feels his legs disappear again, and the pain in his spine spike slightly for a moment, before vanishing as well, underneath the waist line.

"It's okay Charles, and I'll stay. For the week."

Suddenly, Charles face enlightens even more. Clara notices, and her eyebrows furrow together. But both know she's not mad, even without having to use their powers.

"But don't get any ideas. I'm not promising to stay forever, but I'll try it. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything." Charles smiles, staring up at her awaiting face. But in return, it becomes ridden with compassion and concern.

"If you need me to help you walk, I'll be more than happy to help. But I hope you'll understand when I ask that you don't expect me to be on you twenty four seven."

Clara immediately feels guilty for saying that, for Charles face starts to turn red in embarrassment. She opens her mouth to apologise, but Charles beats her to it.

"Of course, Clara. I wouldn't do that to you in the first place. And besides. I think that's enough walking for now. How about we let everyone back in to their drinks?"

Clara smiles her agreement, following after Charles who starts to wheel himself out.

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**A/N:**

**Well, that's chapter one finished. I've already got half the story planned, and if I can, I'll get it posted sometime soon. Remember, reviews are a writer's fuel. ;)**


	2. Always Another Reason

**A/N: Wow! I've updated! Anyhow, a special thanks to all those who favourited, followed and those who fed me with reviews! ^-^ And an extra special thanks to Alice, who added this to her community!**

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**Blue Blouses**

Chapter 2: Another Reason Why

The complaints and yells come from outside the door, and Clara is almost scared to open the glass panes. Rude faces swear at her from the street, fog forming on the cold surface from heated breath.

"Don't worry. I'll handle this."

Charles frowns in concentration, placing his fingertips to his temples. Clara can feel the pressure in her mind changing, making her skin crawl as the telepath invades the mind's of the pub goers again.

Suddenly, all sounds cease, and Clara is left staring at a frozen crowd. One man has a bear bottle, in mid throw. 'Thank God for Charles' intervention.' Clara thinks as she opens the door.

As she does so, everyone returns to a more relaxed stance, moving calmly out of the way as Charles wheels himself out. Clara follows timidly behind, watching the almost dead like features of Charles' victims. She stops at a young man, who eyes seem to be trailing them. They land on her as she moves her hand in front of his face, eyes following.

"Yes, he can see you." The man suddenly says, raising an eyebrow. Clara's eyes widen as she does a double take back. But she realises what's happening as he starts to laugh.

"Charles. That isn't very funny." Clara turns her head, crossing her arms defiantly at the mind reader, who seems to be waiting for something by the road.

"Sorry, my dear. Couldn't resist." The rather tall man with dark curly hair in front of her replies, letting a low laugh roll.

"Well... If you find this so funny, tell me. Why does this one," she motions for the stranger in question, "seem to have more control over what your doing than the others?"  
Charles takes a moment to respond out loud.

"He's more intelligent than the others. I can't quite control him. And he's also aware that you're doing that, so I would stop if I were you."

Clara stops prodding the man's comically thin cheekbones when he tells her this, pulling herself back a step, apologising quickly, before dashing away. All the while, green eyes watching her.

Reaching Charles' side, Clara stands quietly next to him. After almost two minutes of silence, she frowns, about to say something... When suddenly a car pulls up in front of them. Where the sleek, black jaguar came from has her baffled.

"Here we are." Charles smiles, wheeling back slightly, giving himself space. Suddenly, a man steps out, dressed neatly in a tuxedo and a driver's cap. He opens the back door, and Charles wheels closer, making a move to get off his wheelchair.

Clara senses the difficulty, and steps forward.

"No!... Thank you, Clara. It's much appreciated, but I can handle it." He lets out an exasperated breath, grunting as he lifts himself off, and deposits himself into the seat. He shuffles over using his hands, allowing space for Clara to sit. The girl does just that as the Driver closes the door, climbing in himself.

"Where to, sir?" He asks, his voice old, but smothered in wisdom, Clara can sense.

"231 Fleet Street, please Robert." Charles replies, with his fingers to his head again.  
Clara looks around at the mention of her address, slightly startled, but remembering she's in a car... With a telepath... Who has a private driver... And a mansion to go home to. What else did she expect? So, gathering herself together, Clara gets her proprieties in order, asking the next sensible question.

"Whatever for?"

Charles looks at her with a raised eyebrow, giving the impression that she had just asked the most blatantly obvious question in the world.

"Essentials Clara. You're staying for a week. You'll need clothes."

'Well, so much for the sensible question idea.' Clara thinks with a inward sigh, on the outside nodding.

"It's okay, my dear. Late nights and excitement do that to a person." He laughs, looking out the window, away from her astonished face gawking at him.

The rest of the trip to her place is quiet, except for the occasional stray thought about the other. But as the car starts to reach the downtown part of New York, and more ugly faces start pressing against the window, Charles comes to realise how poorly Clara is living.

"You came out a far way tonight." Charles comments after watching the scenery outside go from bad to worse over the past ten minutes.

"Not too far, really. It was Matt's idea anyway." Clara responds, letting her gaze outside to car stray.

Watching her building roll into view, Clara readies herself to get out.

"Just here, please." She says, straightening her blouse out as Robert pulls the car to a halt. Jumping out, Clara goes to close the door, but stops when she sees Charles leaning over the leather seats.

"You'll be okay?"

Clara smiles at his concern.

"Charles, I live here. Everyone here is mostly nice, except for Mr. Sweet, who I can tell you now, isn't quite sweet." She offers last, finally closing the door as Charles replies with a still skeptic,

"Okay then."

Walking away and across the grass, Clara can still hear Charles' uneasiness, even over the sound of the crunching grass underfoot.

Without another thought, Clara unlocks the front door, and starts the flight of stairs. But by the second floor, Clara suddenly does become concerned. Something doesn't feel right. Suddenly becoming cautious, she arrives at her floor, and approaches the door at the end of the hall. The lighting flickers on and off ominously, like it always has. Clara had never thought twice about the electrical problem until now. Mrs. Mulch always seemed to have a problem with it, but never Clara.

But as she approaches the door, the feelings grow, and she can finally distinguish them as separate emotions. Rage, anxiousness, hatred... What was in there?

Breath haltering in her mouth, Clara extends her hand to the doorknob, the door itself staring back at her like a lion to its prey. But as she presses down onto the cool, smooth surface, everything disappears. The emotions just simply disappear, almost as if they weren't there in the first place. Stepping back from the doorknob, she still can't sense anything. Well, she can sense the twins next store as they get they're midnight feed, but she can't sense anything from her flat.

A multitude of thoughts coming rushing through her mind. What if Charles was right? Late nights and excitement is getting to her? Or maybe there truly is something to be terrified of in her flat, waiting for her to open the door.

"Brave heart, Clara." She whispers, finally pushing her hand and twisting the door knob. Hurling the door open just in case, Clara pokes her head in, looking around. Nothing.  
Letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, Clara steps in, dropping the keys off in the fruit bowl, and closing the door behind her. Looking around, Clara still can't sense anything.

"Honey, I'm home!" She calls out loud... Knowing it is silly, but wanting to make sure there isn't some psychopathic, shapeshifting, telepathic, ultimate mutant waiting for her. So when nothing comes... No sound, no movement, no stray thoughts or change in the atmosphere, Clara deems it safe to walk in.

Moving towards her room, Clara pulls the old suitcase out from underneath her bed (If you could call a creaky metal frame with a ten year old mattress on top a bed) , then moves to her cupboard to pull the folded clothes out, and hung up dresses. There are only a few pieces of intact clothing she has left, after the last fatal encounter with her mother. Three quarters of her wardrobe had been ripped to shreds in a heated argument. Now all that is left are a few blouses, dresses, a pair of raged, tight fitting jeans, a long coat and underwear. Fitting all this into her small case, Clara zips it shut, and stands it against the door. But then something does become apparent. One stray thought, or feeling. Not hers, Clara can safely say.

Following the feeling to the kitchen, Clara dawdles, but watching her surroundings carefully. On the counter top is a packet of open marshmallows, staring at her invitingly. For a thin girl, she always had a weak spot for sugar.

Taking one and looking it over, she is about to pop in her mouth when...

"Clara."

Clara nearly drops the sweet, but quickly recovers herself, recognising the voice as belonging to Charles.

"God... Yes?" She asks aloud, looking up at the ceiling as if he were there.

"No, don't. Talk to me through our link. Don't talk aloud."

Clara eyes widen, blood curdling.

"Why?" She thinks in her mind, also talking to Charles. It takes a moment or two for him to reply, Clara notes, and what he has to say, sends the blood in her body straight to the floor.

"Because there's someone else with you."

Her whole body becomes rigid, and her hold around the marshmallow tightens with fright. Trying to keep calm, she sweeps a long gaze around the room, attempting to act normal.

"Charles?" Clara asks, not sure on what to do next.

"Put the marshmallow into your mouth, then shrug. Make it seem normal, dismissing the fact and thought in your mind."

"Why mind?"

"Because whoever it is, is a telepath. I had to affect your perception of this conversation as well to block the fact that I'm even here."

Clara nods mentally, then does as she is asked, popping the fluffy treat into her mouth, then shrugging to herself.

"Now go back to the bedroom, pick up your bag and just walk out. I can't get a lock on who's with you, but I'm sure you can sense the hostility in there with you."

His voice is commanding, but a certain tone of reassurance is sent with it. Clara complies, moving to the bedroom and picking her bag up.

"Yes I can."

"Good, now carefully pick up the keys from the fruit bowl and slowly, and calmly, remove yourself from the flat."

Clara frowns, about to chastise him about his knowledge of where he keys are hidden, when suddenly her words melt in her head, and her mind focuses on the hairs on her neck swaying.

A single breath on her neck, and it takes everything Clara has to stay calm. Gathering the keys, unlocking the door, Clara turns as she steps out, trying to pull the keys from the door. But as she does that, something catches her eye. An almost mirror like object, a silhouette stands in her hallway, humanly shaped. Not casting an eye to it, Clara closes the door, breathing heavily. Immediately, she stuffs the keys in her pocket, picks the bag up, and goes. As she speeds down a floor, she wonders where Charles has gotten to.

"I'm right here." His mental voice comes in reply, deep but soft.

"Thank God!" Clara breathes aloud, watching her feet carry her.

"Yes, but you need to slow down. Whatever that is back there can sense your rapid descent down the stairs."

Clara pulls up so fast, her bag is nearly sent flying front first into the wall in front of her. The last flight of stairs dissipate into a solid floor, and carefully the empath moves to the door, opening it, stepping out, then shutting it again. Looking across the street in the dull moonlight, Clara can see the car parked just outside the reach of a nearby street lamp. Walking towards it, she can make out Charles' face in the window, fingers pressed to his temple. He frowns in a mix of thought and discretion as he stares at the building. But suddenly, his expression changes, and Clara feels the pressure in her mind change as he looks at her through the tinted glass.

"Clara?"

"Yes?" She replies out loud to the mental voice.

"Hurry."

Clara quickens her pace.

"No, I mean, run!"

He didn't have to say it for a third time. Clara is off, legs moving faster than they ever have in her life so far.

In the car, Charles' driver makes a move to get out and help her. Unlike Clara, he hadn't been privy to the conversation that had taken place between the two. So when he opens the door, Charles literally has to swing around, focusing on him.

"No, Robert. Just get ready to drive, please."

"Yes sir." Robert's old voice comes, as the door shuts. Charles nods, turning back to the window, but is met with the sight of Clara frantically knocking against the glass.

"Sorry, love." He says out loud, unlocking the door, allowing her to swing it open as he shuffles over.

"Comes on." He says encouragingly as she passes her suitcase, throwing herself in and shutting the door. Clara looks out to see the same mirror form from her flat moving rapidly across the grass, towards them. The site makes her eyes widen, and she turns to the driver.

"Drive!" She shouts, and immediately, the acceleration pedal is hit, and Clara is almost pinned to the back seat.

As the g-force wears off, Clara finds her head in her hands, exhaling loudly. Charles notices, leaning over.

"Clara, are you okay?"

Quickly, Clara pulls her hands away, turning her body to face him directly. The quickness of the movement has Charles startled, but he recovers quickly, hiding the fact.

"Okay, mister. You better start explaining. From the beginning. What was that? And why me?"

Her eyes narrow, and Charles finds himself looking away. Clara could feel him forming his answer in his mind, but he covers the rest with shields.

"Clara, I'll be honest with you."

"You better be." Clara comments as Charles turns back to her. She is about to snap at him again, but stops when she sees the sudden look in his eyes. She couldn't describe it. It was one if urgency, utter truth and so much more.

"Do you remember Cuba, Clara?"

She found herself nodding, going over the stolen memory in her mind.

"Yes. You showed me."

"Yes. And did you see Eric?"

The man in question appears in her mind, supposedly coming directly from the man across from her. She nods, almost as a response to the image.

"He and I were friends once. We worked together to stop..."

"Sebastian Shaw?" Clara interrupts, picking her way through the conversation.

"Yes, you saw that too?" He asks, cocking his head in confusion.

"No, I saw it on the news."

The girl steals a look out the front, seeing the car turn off the main road, and going down dark, gloomy road, over covered by trees. Least it would create shade during the day. At night, it reminded the young girl of a nightmare.

"Yes, it would have been. Okay. So we stopped him, Eric and I with the help of the others, but at a price. Eric murdered him in revenge. It was for a noble cause, but it wasn't right. I couldn't stop him. Eric believes all humans and worthless, and that they should be wiped out. Obviously, that is totally incorrect. He wants mutants to stand side by side. He wants to rule the world, Clara." He looks right into her eyes.

"And I'm the only person cable of stopping him."

Clara gulps down hard, turning to look out the window. The moon caught her eye, at its thinnest. It reminded her of what was left over after clipping your nails.

"So where do I come in?" She asks, turning back to him.

"You, my dear, came in a few weeks back." Charles tries to reposition himself, shuffling his lower body around, which proves to be hard when he couldn't feel it.

"Although I can't read Eric's mind, because it is so heavily shielded, I can read one of his accomplice's. Raven, or Mystique, as she prefers it now. She was a very close friend of mine. Sad to say, but I can pick up her thoughts like a torch light in the dark of night. Three weeks back, I could sense her unease, so I created a link. What I saw terrified me as to its cause. I saw multiple files in a pile, yours on top, screaming faces, toured and mutilated bodies. Past test subjects. So whatever Eric has in mind, it involves you and other mutants, a giant machine, and a pair of restrainers. It isn't going to be pretty. It took me only five seconds to locate your whereabouts on Cerebro. But tracking you down alone took me longer than I thought. Least you visited the pub tonight. You're very elusive."

Clara smiles, still very confused.

"Thank you, I think."

"I'm just glad I got to you first before Eric did. Who knows what could have happened if I hadn't."

Clara coughs, feeling the sudden change of road as they hit what was supposedly gravel.  
"I suppose I should be saying thank you, but one more question. What was that back there?"

All of a sudden, the temperature drops. Clara shivers, wondering if it is just her. It must have been, but then Charles shivers as well.

"What you would have become if I didn't find you before Magneto did."

Clara looks away, short of breath.

"He's rounding up mutants with special abilities that are unique, isn't he." Clara sighs, looking the telepath in the eye.

"Yes he is. And that's what that machine I mentioned is designed to do. It latches each test subjects' mutant genes together, melding the cells together so each victim shares the same powers. But just to add the cherry on top, their brain is encoded so they only respond to Eric's commands."

"That's horrid!" Clara shrieks, face filing disgust.

"Yes. And that was what was at your flat. I'm supposing a prototype, sent to collect you."

Clara is taken aback, but knows it makes sense.

"Well, why the Hell didn't it take me?"

Charles doesn't take a moment to reply.

"Because it knew you weren't alone. I'm supposing it was under orders to take you only if you were alone."

"And because you were monitoring my thoughts, you could sense it too?"

Clara caught on quickly, figuring this out at the same time as Charles.

"Well, yes and no. I could sense another thought pattern in the room with you, almost disturbing. Well it stayed almost disturbing until I tried to read its mind. That's when it did change into disturbing. Clearly, they definitely weren't yours, Clara. But every time I looked , it projected an image into my head. Not a very nice one either."

"Charles."

Clara interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to her. He is suddenly taken aback by her face. She looks on the verge of tears. Why didn't he pick up on it?

"Will it... Will it be able to find us..." She rolls her eyes, sighing. "Me... Will it be able to find me at your place?"

Charles sighs, knowing there is no point in lying to her. Clara waits for an answer, subconsciously twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. Charles watches, saddened by the site of her vulnerability. So to say the next part, it nearly broke his heart.

"Yes."

Clara's eyes glaze over, but she nods. She stares at him, then sniffles, but sucks it up not a moment too soon, apologising gruffly before refocusing everything.

"But I doubt Eric will try and get through with a whole load of mutants living under one roof. And besides, he'll wake me up first, then Beast."

"Beast?" Clara asks, trying to bring a smile to her softened lips.

"Oh... Hank. The blue, fury one." Charles continues, seeing her confused expression.

Clara nods in realisation.

"Oh..." She turns her head, noticing the scenery from outside changing from a dark, gloomy road, into an open plain, filled with rolling hills, soft green grass, and a big manor house sitting at the end of the road.

"Why me?"

Clara turns to him suddenly, breaking the silence. Charles props his head back, brows furrowing together in thought and concern.

"Truthfully?"

Clara nods.

"I don't know. Eric has something big planned for you. That's all I know. And judging from Eric's past, he's got twisted morals and a strange ethical system. He'll sacrifice the few, for the many. But what happens when that number grows?"

"I don't want to think about it." Clara laughs ruefully, watching the approaching house, suddenly seeing the monstrosity of it.

_It's huge!_ Clara thinks, mouth open.

"I know." She hears behind her, and shakes her head in mock disappointment. Charles laughs as the car pulls up, and the driver steps out.

Clara opens the car door, coming up on the opposite side to the mansion. Moving around the car, never taking her eyes from the castle, she comes to stand on the grass, damp with dew.

The brunette gasps. She'd never been to a place like this before. Even when she was little, her mother never took her to any fancy hotels. They lived in the poor end of Sussex back home in England. She missed that country. Especially the rain. They had moved to New York when Clara was eleven, nearly twelve.

_Wonder how old Charles was when he moved away._

"I was eight. Nearly nine."

Clara looks down to the owner of that voice, wanting to chastise him for reading her mind. But then she stops, seeing his battle with his lower body, and the awaiting wheelchair. The pained expression on his face, and she can feel the pain too. He still isn't really used to life confined to a chair. Clara hopes she can help with that.

"You live in absolute luxury, Charles." She comments, sighing mentally as he makes it into his chair without breaking something.

"Well," he laughs ruefully, adjusting himself in his chair, looking up at her. "- yes and no. I have five others living with me. Six, including you."

Clara takes a step back, balancing on her given luggage. "Oh, so you don't like company then?" She laughs, Charles finally comfortable in his spot.

"My dear, if I didn't like company, you wouldn't be here, now would you." He laughs, Robert pushing him along.

"Shall we?" He asks, moving past her with a smile.

"Why not?" Clara laughs back, following him over the gravel, coming up to the awaiting castle.

* * *

**A/N: And finished! Well, finished this chapter anyway. Hope you enjoyed, should be updating soon! And remember, my lovelies, reviews are a writer's fuel! ;)**


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